


The Accursed Mansion

by cuddlepuss



Category: Frank Iero - Fandom, Gerard Way - Fandom, MCR - Fandom, Mikey Way - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, bob bryar - Fandom, ray toro - Fandom
Genre: Black Parade, Landslide, Multi, Paramore Mansion, car crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlepuss/pseuds/cuddlepuss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob flees the mansion following a nightmare, but what happens when he runs his car straight into a landslide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accursed Mansion

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a competition entry over on DeviantArt.

Gasping and sweating, I sat bolt upright as a nightmare yanked me from my sleep. I had to get up, get out of the room, away from the scene of the illusory bloodbath. Pulling on jeans and a sweater, and shoving my feet haphazardly into shoes, I snatched up my wallet, phone and keys before racing from the building.

I got into my car and drove like a bat out of hell, anywhere away from that accursed place. The Black Parade indeed! Whose genius idea was it to stay at the Paramore mansion anyhow? I cursed the day I ever even heard of the damned place. 

But that dream, I couldn’t get the visions of it out of my head. So much blood! Teenagers, dead, torn apart by a house of wolves. Fear growing like a cancer in the minds of the victims. The sharpest lives at the end by famous last words – there’s nothing to be scared of. 

Mama would have understood, she always did. Taking a corner at breakneck speed, I was going too fast, paying too little attention to avoid the freshly fallen avalanche of rock and trees. The nose of the car ploughed into the slide, and flipped the stupid car bonnet over boot, landing it on its roof on the slip. That’s when gravity kicked in, and tipped it down the cliffside, over and over like a ragdoll in a spin dryer until I didn’t know which way was up.

As I hung there, suspended from my seatbelt, the crazy paving of the shattered windshield under me, I drifted in and out of awareness of what was going on, sometimes alert to the crash, sometimes not. Certainly not processing minor details like acrid smoke or the astringent smell of diesel, not even agonising pain.

The clatter of shale hitting the underside of the car would have alerted me to the presence of someone nearing me, if I’d been aware of it. A face appeared by my door. Pale, worried, brown irises almost completely hidden by the black of the hugely enlarged pupils. I grinned dopily.

Others soon arrived too, a total of four men, all with brown eyes, all almost blacked out with concern, each wearing similar, worried expressions. I blinked wearily at them, I was so tired! Not knowing what I said, or who or what I said it to, I muttered something about not loving you like I did yesterday – I probably meant the car, though the state I was in, I may have been talking to myself. Between them, they got me out of the car, and by some miracle up the cliffside as well, before manhandling me into a car with them and off to hospital.

Once at the hospital, I was, unsurprisingly, diagnosed as having a concussion, and booked in to stay for a few days. Me? Stay in hospital? Uh-uh, not going to happen. That was, until a certain hazel eyed bassist turned on his doe-eyes and offered to stay with me. Who could resist? I mean, I loathe hospitals, but …. So does he, and if he could stick it out for me, I guess I could for him. That’s what friends do, right? Besides, it kept me out of that place for a few nights.  
Settled that night, with Mikey in a visitor’s cot beside me, I was attempting to sleep, between the beeps and blood pressure checks, the responses tests to make sure my brain wasn’t swelling due to the concussion. Yeah, hospital is a REALLY restful place to recover. As I watched Mikey sleep, I grew steadily more disenchanted with the life on the road, location filming for videos, bossy producers, demanding editors, other musicians trying to tell you how to play your own instrument when they don’t play the same one as you. 

Three days later, Mikey and I returned to the accursed mansion to finish filming the damned music video. Never have I hated a place so much as I did that one. I couldn’t sleep in that room anymore, every time I went in there, I’d see the blood splattered walls and lifeless bodies of the victims I’d dreamed of, and go nearly insane. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent with Mikey – the two of us displaying to the rest how we ‘disappear’ – trying to outsmart the spooks, never managing. 

When we finally finished the album, none of us was sorry to leave. Packing at top speed, we all triple checked that we’d not left anything, packed ourselves into the surviving cars, and left, hopefully never to return. This time, we were all disappearing – for good.


End file.
